


Now That I Can Love You

by In_love_with_writing002



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt, Coming Untouched, Confessions, Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Geralt says “I love you”, Getting Together, I just needed good feelings okay, Jaskier says "I love you", Love, M/M, Mild Angst, Obligitory "here we are" quote, Oral Sex, Past Tense, Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roach has to eat at some point, Sleepiness, Tense Shifting, Top Jaskier, happiness, it works???, present tense usage, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_love_with_writing002/pseuds/In_love_with_writing002
Summary: “I love you,” Jaskier mutters, because it’s the truth, because he’s allowed to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 32
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so many GOOD VIBES in it

It all culminated to this, Jaskier thought with a soft smile. Every battle, petty argument, every night spent lying next to each other, shutting out the cold in the circle of each other’s arms. He felt Geralt’s grip adjust a little, his arms around Jaskier holding him close with his forehead pressed into his neck. Jaskier might have complained that he was sitting awfully high up on the bed if he wasn’t so content. Their rest was well deserved. Jaskier ran his hand through Geralt’s hair, just because he could, and the smile on his face tugged wider when Geralt responded with a barely there but very intimate, honest to goodness nuzzle. Jaskier kept doing it, admiring its length and slightly wiry texture. The morning (perhaps early afternoon?) light was just coming in from the window, and Jaskier knew Geralt would be awake soon. It wasn’t often that he woke before the Witcher, but on that day, he appreciated the few stolen moments. He allowed himself to steal a few more minutes of soft warmth before deciding the numbness where Geralt’s legs were crushing one of his calves was too much to bear.

“Wake up, love,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Geralt’s head. “Time to greet the dawn.” Geralt seized him tighter, further burying himself against Jaskier’s stomach and chest, and Jaskier huffed a soft laugh. “Geralt.”

“Early.”

“I think it’s well past breakfast time, you. Roach will get upset if you don’t feed her soon.” Jaskier ran his hand through Geralt’s hair again, dragging tension from him through its roots. “Go on. I’ll be here when you come back.” Geralt finally released him and started rolling away, the relief as blood flowed back into his calf only lasting briefly as it was contested by the view of Geralt’s broad shoulders shifting and just within reach. Jaskier touched them, just because he could. Geralt paused for a second and Jaskier took the moment to admire them, squeezing his bicep and smiling to himself. “You lovely thing,” he muttered, pushing closer to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Go before I convince myself you should stay.” He ended it with a pointed push to his shoulder, and Geralt sighed as he sat up, disturbing the blankets as he swung his legs off. He stood, giving Jaskier a wonderful view of his still bare backside, then shuffled around grabbing clothes to wear for the few minutes he would be gone. “I’m not leaving,” Jaskier assured Geralt when he looked over his shoulder at the door. “Go.” Geralt sighed and walked out. As soon as the door was shut again, Jaskier put his hands to his face. He was grinning, he found, and covered his mouth, then his whole face with both hands, and he started giggling. His heart felt light where it beat at a rabbit’s pace in his chest, his bones felt sated, his muscles felt sore. There was nothing better than this. Jaskier threw his head back and laughed, not even sure why but just knowing the sound has to come out or stay trapped in his chest. He’d finally done it.

Fucked Geralt? Yes. Gone completely insane? Perhaps. Whatever madness spurred him to his state, Jaskier embraced it wholeheartedly and unabashedly, mirth and joy, all-consuming joy, bursting from his lips. Tears sprung into his eyes and his hands moved to his sore sides, clutching and bracing against the feelings in his chest. His inner light burned and burned, dimming only when footsteps came back outside the door. It opened and there he was, real and looking tired still. Jaskier wiped away his tears and beamed, sitting up and beckoning him closer. Geralt kicked the door shut and took off his boots, sinking into the offered embrace like feet into mud. Jaskier covered his face in kisses, just because he could, culminating in a tender kiss to his lips, gifting his Witcher with a taste of his happiness. Geralt kneeled between Jaskier’s legs, forcing his mouth down his neck to his chest, then further still, until Geralt was pressing his nose into his stomach, Jaskier’s hands on the nape of his neck and in his hair. “I’m in love with you,” Jaskier says for the second time in a day, and the sound that Geralt makes is somewhere between a sob and a grunt, his hands bringing Jaskier closer, the Witcher’s lips pressing into his stomach. “Gods and goddesses, I love you.”

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt says, like it’s the only name he knows, and Jaskier dutifully responds to his reverence, pushing himself closer to Geralt. He slides one hand down Geralt’s neck to his shirt, tugging at it until Geralt relents and sits back on his heels, stripping out of it. Jaskier couldn’t have hid his state if he wanted to, his hardening cock an instinctive response to the miles of gorgeous skin so close to his hands. His mouth watered. Geralt sways close again, hands and mouth eager to please, and Jaskier lets him touch, excitement lighting up his nerves until his whole body is awake and responsive, ready to receive the worship Geralt showers him with. It’s okay, he reminds himself. He’s allowed to have this. Hands gently slide Jaskier’s legs apart, beginning at his ankles with a comforting press of thumb to his instep, then up and up his calves to his knees, which he pauses to rub for a moment, recalling the abuse they were put under the night before. His massive hands parted Jaskier’s knees like they hid a treasure, and his calves came to rest on Geralt’s beautiful broad shoulders. Jaskier is so exposed like this, he thinks, at Geralt’s mercy and wrath. Despite Geralt being the one kneeling, Jaskier had never felt more helpless. Luckily for Jaskier, Geralt loved him too, and bent down to kiss his hip bone, one of his hands curling around his cock. Jaskier sighs softly, Geralt’s name an exhale through his lips while he props himself back on one hand. Geralt moves his hand lazily, as if an afterthought to the attention he lavished on the crease of Jaskier’s leg. Eventually it becomes not enough anymore, and it takes only a single tug on Geralt’s hair to get his attention.

“Hmm…” their eyes met before Geralt moved, lips a searing point of contact on the side of Jaskier’s cock. A moan fell from his lips, dissolving into a weak laugh as Jaskier thought about how wonderful the whole situation was. His heart felt light and radiant once again; he was sure if he opened his eyes it would blind him, and then Geralt’s mouth sank onto his cock.

“Oh,  _ fuck!” _ The punched out sound leaves Jaskier scrambling, falling apart at his seams with nothing to hold onto except Geralt, his hair, his grounding touch, the hot, hot mouth on his cock— Jaskier’s hand, which he’d been bracing himself on, collapses under him and he’s writhing, trying to keep from bucking his hips while he holds on for dear life. Geralt is incredibly good at this, his mind tells him. The way his tongue sits still on the bottom of his mouth fighting his gag reflex, the suction that makes the whole thing tighter and more intimate, how he swallows every few moments and sends tingles to the tips of Jaskier’s toes. He bares his throat to the air, consumed by pleasure as he is, a willing surrender that lasts a precious few minutes as Geralt pulls off for a moment and coughs, rubbing his throat. He flashes Jaskier a self-satisfied grin and then he’s back before Jaskier can even ask if he’s okay. “Geralt,” he moans, feeling the way his body is hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Geralt gets his hands under Jaskier and tilts his hips up, the change in angle a curse and a blessing as Jaskier’s hips jerked against his will, bucking up into Geralt’s mouth. “ _ Geralt,” _ Jaskier gasps, the single word a combination of “I’m sorry!” and “are you okay?” And “That feels so good.” Geralt seems to get every message and makes an obscene sound as he presses his mouth closer to Jaskier’s hip. The choked moan he makes when Jaskier’s hips buck again is what does him in, his back arching as he spills into Geralt’s waiting mouth. He feels like he’s floating, watching while the world spun in his vision, his head pounding, guided back to the moment only when Geralt’s voice fills his ears.

“Come back to me, bard,” he says. And while Jaskier wants to swim in ecstasy forever, his love is wanton and wanting in front of him, desperate where he ruts into his own hand. “Jas,” he is saying. “ _ Jaskier.” _ Jaskier slides bonelessly from the bed to the floor, touching Geralt wherever he can and kissing where he was growling through bared fangs, rubbing his clenched jaw with a thumb and whispering poetry into his ear; a thing he’s allowed to do now. Mere moments later, Geralt’s pace stuttered and his growl grew louder, teeth snapping on empty air.

“That’s it, Wolf,” Jaskier praises, pressing his lips to the tight line of Geralt’s neck, just because he can. “Let go.” Geralt shudders against him, courteous as he keeps his sticky hand away from Jaskier’s body, hugging him close with his forearm. Jaskier follows the guiding touch and finds himself in a sweet kiss, ending with their noses brushing together. “I love you,” Jaskier mutters into the space between them, because it’s the truth, because he’s allowed to. Geralt looks back at him with something like reverence, something unguarded, and because he’s allowed to, too, he kisses Jaskier once again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a dream,” Geralt whispers. “I’m going to wake up any minute, and Borch will be dead, and Yen will be there, and I’m going to break your hearts, and you’re going to leave.”
> 
> “You have me,” Jaskier tells him again. “I’m not leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was going to be a flashback prequel to chapter one from Jaskier's perspective-- but I'm a softie who can't stand to see their boys hurting that much. So, more porn it is.

Thinking back, Jaskier decides that the conclusion they reached would have been inevitable anyway, regardless of how it had been approached. Their chosen method hadn’t been a bad one, in fact, had been dealt with nicely, if the resolution was any indication, but it was bound to happen eventually.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says aloud, the topic on his mind while they’re setting up camp. The Witcher has wood in his arms, waiting for the fire to build more before he can add any. “What would you have done if I had left?” A log slides out of Geralt’s grip at the same time Jaskier’s heart sinks. “At the mountain.” Geralt is clearly trying to process the words because he doesn’t notice when another log slides from his grip.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Not in this world, no, but what about another version of that time? Where Yennefer and I _both_ left you and even when you came after us, we were gone?” Jaskier was making his own heart ache. “If it was too much for me to bear, and not enough to make you break?” Geralt dropped the rest of the wood and crossed the makeshift camp to Jaskier’s side and kissed him, pulled him to his chest, wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him close.

“I couldn’t,” he whispers when he finally relents, letting Jaskier have a moment to breathe and calm his heart. “Back in the mountain, Jaskier, I-“ he grits his teeth. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I said.”

“Theoretical, love.” Jaskier put a hand up to Geralt’s jaw. “I’m not going to leave you _now_ , if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak, I wouldn’t have left you then. You have me. You’re rather stuck with me, I think.” Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re a dream,” Geralt whispers. “I’m going to wake up any minute, and Borch will be dead, and Yen will be there, and I’m going to break your hearts, and you’re going to leave.”

“ _You have me,_ ” Jaskier tells him again. “I’m not leaving.”

“Then stop thinking in _theory_ , I-“ Geralt’s grip tightens before it releases. Jaskier thinks he’s never seen Geralt more emotional, certainly not this talkative while _being_ emotional. “ _Jaskier._ ” Not waiting any more torturous moments, he kisses him, passionately and reassuringly. He knows instinctively what Geralt needs and guides him into sitting down, fire forgotten and probably burning itself out. Jaskier backs off for air and stands upright so he can settle into a better position. Geralt seemed to have other plans, and pressed his cheek against Jaskier’s leg, curling his fingers on his calf. In the softest tone he’s ever heard from the man, Geralt whispers against Jaskier’s thigh, nearly too quiet for him to pick up. “ _Don’t go._ ” Jaskier’s heart aches. He sinks his hand into Geralt’s hair, turning Geralt’s head into the material of his clothes.

“I already told you you’re stuck with me,” Jaskier says, trying to make a joke but the words come out breathless. He continues to be awed by Geralt’s tenderness, the way he touches and admires Jaskier like he’s some kind of precious item. “But if you need more reassurance I’m happy to provide.” He sinks to his knees and presses his hands into Geralt’s thighs so he can lean in, kiss him the way he wants to. One hand comes up to Jaskier’s neck, his other still on his leg but trying to get them closer, _closer._ Geralt adjusts from where he is seated awkwardly on the ground and lets Jaskier into the space between his legs, laying back until Jaskier is hovering over him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Jaskier’s hands skirt the inside of Geralt’s legs, where his cock sits already hard against his thigh. Geralt’s eyes squeeze tight as Jaskier palms him through the fabric.

“You precious idiot,” Jaskier scoffs. “You never hurt anyone more than yourself.” He punctuates it with a firm press of his thumb, and Geralt moans. “After everything you’ve been through, you deserve this.”

“ _Jaskier._ ” Mercy of Melitele, Jaskier will never tire of hearing Geralt moan his name like that. He sits back on his heels and nudges Geralt’s hips. He lifts them, just slightly, but it’s enough for Jaskier to unlace his trousers and pull them down his hips. Jaskier swallows when his mouth fills with saliva, and he flicks his eyes up to Geralt because there’s a question in his eyes.

“I love you,” Jaskier says softly, and he _doesn’t even touch him_ and still Geralt is shattering apart in his arms, body hot with shame because it was the first time it had ever been over so quickly. (It’s far from over, Geralt is covered in spunk but he’s still hard and Jaskier hasn’t gotten around to himself yet.) Geralt is covering his face with his hands, gritting his teeth, and Jaskier has never been more fucking in love with him, he feels it ache in his bones. “ _I love you,_ ” again, and Geralt brings him up to his mouth so they can kiss, so Geralt can lick into his mouth and touch him and drag moans from him like they’re the bricks and mortar of repairing his dignity. Not that there was anything lost. Jaskier wants _more._

“Again,” Geralt grunts when they’re finally separated long enough for Jaskier to grab his chamomile oil, come back, press the bottle into his hands. “Tell me again.”

“I love you,” Jaskier says, surprised when Geralt pushes the oil back into his hand. His eyes widen when Geralt moves their hands down together until his intentions are clear. Before Jaskier can even ask if he’s sure Geralt is nodding, lifting his hips in the air and urging Jaskier closer. Jaskier’s hands shake as he grips the bottle, uncorks it, and spills some onto his fingers. He slides one of Geralt’s beautifully muscular legs over his shoulder and begins to gently rub the space behind his balls with a finger, settling for lying on his stomach. Geralt still has an arm thrown over his face, but his mouth is exposed. Jaskier considers it a plus that it’s hanging slack and open and panting. He adds more oil and trails his fingers further still, pressing against his hole. His brain stopped working when Geralt produced a bitten-off moan.

“Jas,” Geralt says. “I’ve never-“ Jaskier silences him with a little more pressure, mouthing up the side of his cock, curling his toes when Geralt’s hand slides into his hair. “ _Gods,_ ” He says when Jaskier responds with sliding one finger inside of him. Geralt’s hips jerked, nearly smacking him in the nose. Jaskier grinned and continued moving his finger, pleased when Geralt pressed back into the touch.

“Good?” Jaskier asks, wanting to make sure he’s doing everything right.

“ _Melitele’s tits, Jaskier, shut up.”_ Geralt arched his back and pressed on Jaskier’s head.

“Okay!” Jaskier giggles into his thigh, giving it a reprimanding nip. Geralt pushes him again. “Someone’s impatient.” He slides a second finger inside of Geralt and he moans shamelessly. Warmth fills his chest and Jaskier thinks it’s a very bad time to start feeling fuzzy things again, but yet…

_here they are._

“Hurry up, bard,” Geralt growls. Jaskier flashes a glance up and seeks out his prostate. “ _Fuck!”_

“Fine then,” Jaskier murmurs, kissing back up to his cock. “Beautiful, love.” Jaskier showers attention to the bundle of nerves, adding a third finger, and closes his mouth over Geralt’s length. Geralt’s cheeks start to colour pink with exertion, and Jaskier decides he’s done. After all, getting a Witcher, slow beating heart and all to this point? A miracle! He pulls off with a wet sound and withdraws his fingers, awed by the vision that is Geralt ready and waiting before him. “Whichever god I pleased to get this, I hope they know I will worship them to the end of my days.”

“You’ve pleased nobody but yourself,” Geralt growled. Jaskier chuckles.

“You seem pretty pleased.”

“I would be if you would _hurry the fuck up._ ” A sharp tug on his hair draws Jaskier in and he relents, undoing his trousers and using more oil to slick his cock. Jaskier hisses at the contact— Geralt isn’t the only one impatient.

“You’re certain this is what you want?” He has to ask, just to be sure.

“ _Yes,_ get over here and fuck me.”

“ _Filthy,”_ Jaskier scoffs, but settles back between his legs, pressing his clothed chest to Geralt’s bare one. When Jaskier finally presses inside it’s pure _ecstasy_ that fills his mind. Jaskier could write songs about the feeling, try to capture the sound of Geralt’s trembling breath in his memories for years to come, it’s _bliss_ , and _Oh_ —

The way the Witcher sounded.

“Gods,” Jaskier sighs, overwhelmed with emotion. “You’re...”

“Move,” Geralt groans underneath him. Who is Jaskier to deny him when he says it like _that?_ He rolls his hips and presses them closer together, withdrawing slightly only to thrust in deeper. Geralt is nearly squirming by the time Jaskier is entirely inside him, covering his mouth to stifle a moan.

“Don’t hold back for my sake, love.” Geralt’s resolve crumbled, grasping one hand on his hip and the other on his hair, rolling his hips with the motion. Jaskier bent until he could get his mouth to Geralt’s chest. He was right over his heart like this. It was still beating so slow, Jaskier noticed, kissing his pectoral muscle. He moved one of his hands to grab Geralt’s cock, feeling him tense. “You’re already close, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks, sitting up a little so he can whisper in his ear. “My fault I suppose, working you up like that. You don’t have to stop yourself.” He presses a kiss to his neck. “Come on, Witcher.” Geralt's mouth fell open in a wordless moan. “Beautiful.” His cheeks were flushed, his grip firm, his face expressive, a feast for Jaskier’s senses. “Let yourself go, that’s it, _fuck,_ Geralt—“ As much as Jaskier wanted to wait for Geralt to come first, the sensations were overwhelming, and he came with a wrecked sounding whine. He dragged his hand on Geralt’s cock and the Witcher’s breath grew harsher. “I love you,” he muttered when he was out of energy to keep thrusting. It seemed to do the trick though because Geralt was coming hardly a second later, hot and thick over Jaskier’s hand. He slides his arms around Jaskier’s neck and pulls him close— Jaskier can hear him in his ear, and for the first time in his entire fucking life, Jaskier lets himself shut up and listen because Geralt’s voice _bleeds_ with gratitude.

 _“Thank you for staying, thank you for loving me, thank you, Jaskier._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be more? I've got a couple more ideas for this set, but they'll come at their own pace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before the events of Chapter One, how they came to be. Slightly different format because of a different perspective.

Jaskier said Geralt was a martyr. Geralt didn’t like the word, it didn’t fit right. Martyrs were willing to die for anyone, Geralt lived only for himself. He’d always been told he was selfish; he stole resources and food and space from regular people.

And after the mountain… he learned how selfish he really was.

He wanted his life to himself, to be lived out how he wanted it. Silent, without Destiny, his work and travels easy and (and this was a very recent discovery, his want for companionship) in the company of someone he liked. At the time, he thought that someone was Yennefer, he thought that a Mage that yearned for a child and a Witcher who had no place for one could compromise and have a family. But his wish, which was selfish too— wanting to bond Yennefer to himself— prevented it, Yen left him, and Geralt had lashed out on the only other person in his life he cared about.

But Jaskier…

Jaskier was the one who stayed.

Geralt  _ knew _ , obviously. He wasn’t stupid, and the bard wasn’t subtle. His words still rang in Geralt’s ears, the tender scent of hope as Jaskier sat next to him and said:

“ _ You did your best” _

Still fresh in his mind. He’d stolen a glance at Geralt, obviously looking for some reaction, but Geralt hadn’t known what to say.

Witchers didn’t get happy endings.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk,” Jaskier had said after Geralt yelled at him, stinking of guilt and grief but still smiling. “Maybe you’ll find me some more shit to shovel.” Jaskier wanted him enough to be selfish too, Geralt learned then.

Geralt didn’t speak for a while, after that. Why did he stay? He’d thought that his insulting rejection would push him away for good. Too busy thinking, Jaskier took care of their camp while they moved away from the mountain. He did everything without a single complaint, nor a song on his lips, just silence and rustling as he packed their bedrolls and loaded Roach’s saddlebags.

It was Geralt who broke the silence, at the inn after they’d gotten into town again. He was bitter, and his chest hurt, and Jaskier was giving him space but he was  _ right there _ and so  _ quiet. _

“Why are you here?” Nothing. “I told you I wanted you off my hands.” Still nothing. Geralt stayed angry, and Jaskier settled into the far side of the bed, facing away from Geralt.

“You’re being ridiculous. Sleep.” Geralt wanted to launch words back, but nothing came. With nothing else to do he laid down facing away from Jaskier, and shut his eyes.

He didn’t mention that he’d heard Jaskier sobbing himself to sleep.

A week after Geralt’s heart was broken, Jaskier got called to perform in court. Things were still awkward between them, but there was a tender, tentative normalcy that followed them wherever they went. It was like handling glass every time they spoke, their friendship weak and fragile. And Geralt…

Geralt was starting to feel better.

Jaskier giving him space for a few days had been a blessing, really. He’d thought a lot— about Yennefer, about his Child Surprise, about himself, about…

About Jaskier sitting beside him and saying “You did your best,” and how (Melitele save him) he was starting to believe it.

It wasn’t just Borch. It was Yennefer, the banquet, Renfri, it was everything he’d been through for the past few decades of his life, and telling himself “You did your best.” It was Revelation. So he wondered, as he looked at Jaskier and started rebuilding the trust they’d had:

_ Was he doing his best? _

They went to court together. Jaskier performed, and Geralt suffered through pleasantries and too-stiff clothing so Redanian lords would leave the bard alone. In a sense Geralt even had  _ fun _ , no Destiny or princess betrothal to worry about. Merely a bloodless, eventful evening, concluding with Jaskier riding the euphoria of a good performance and pay for another three days. It rubbed off on Geralt, and the night after they left he lingered in the tavern where Jaskier played instead of going straight upstairs. Didn’t protest when he led the people into a round of “Toss a Coin.”

“People  _ love you,  _ Geralt.” Jaskier said, changing for bed. “You know, I bet people will finally start saying you’re beneficial. Maybe that keeping a Witcher around is a good luck charm.” He bumped his shoulder to Geralt’s, sitting beside him.

“Nobody’s going to agree. The only thing having me around brings is a bard who’ll sleep with their wives and sons, and they’ll both be out of town before morning.” And Jaskier  _ laughed, _ for the first time in two weeks, and Geralt…

Geralt found sunshine in the crinkle of his nose. A smile curled on his face and Jaskier laid back on the bed, clutching his sides.

“Witchers and their humor. I must have found the best one.” Jaskier’s smile turned its full force on Geralt, and his heart rate— no, that was Geralt’s heart that pounded in his ears.

Huh.

_ Fuck _ .

Geralt stared at Jaskier for longer than he should have. Stared as he got up and walked around to his side, slipping under the covers. “Thank you for coming with me to Court. After what happened last time I was sure you’d...” Geralt focused back in and sensed tension, he needed to break it and  _ fast, _ or he was going to do something stupid like kiss him.

“After what happened last time,” he echoed, processing the words. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out.” Jaskier smiled again and  _ there _ —

_ Sandalwood and spice _ , Jaskier’s hope. The air was thick with it, and Geralt laid down, facing the bard. “Goodnight, Geralt.” And though Jaskier was asleep quickly, Geralt’s racing thoughts left him awake.

It was so easy to fall back into routine, after Redania. So easy, even with the crushing knowledge that Geralt had fallen for Jaskier in the spanse of two weeks. Geralt took jobs, Jaskier wrote and sang ballads, and they basked in each other’s company. They still hadn’t talked about the mountain, but no time felt like the right time. Instead of talking, Geralt  _ yearned. _ And unlike his pining for Yennefer, it was a slow, torturous yearn. Unlike Yennefer, when guilt sat flavorless on his palate every time they kissed, Jaskier’s love was exotic, saffron and ginger, unique and new. His feelings for Jaskier had opened from a trickle to a waterfall in days, and though Geralt wanted it to be slow, Jaskier had been patient for  _ years. _

In retrospect, Geralt didn’t think his plan would have had the intended effect. As much as he wanted to barrel Jaskier over with a confession, he knew his grasp on language would leave him stumbling for the words. He didn’t anticipate that it would come tumbling out after a hunt, when Jaskier was washing his hair clear of monster guts.

“You tidy up and you fight, only for us to pay again so I can clean you a second time.” He said it wistfully, though his humor was obvious. Geralt tried to follow the joke, but instead blurted out a response very seriously.

“It’s a tragedy I have to have to pay before you touch me.” Jaskier paused.

”Er, you’re joking, right?” Geralt’s pause while he thought back on his words wondering where he had messed up the phrasing must have taken too long because Jaskier continued. “I mean, I’m happy to braid your hair whenever. I always just thought it was a rule, it was only before you went on a hunt, some weird battle ritual.”

“I want you to braid it,“ he began awkwardly. “Er, it’s practical.”

“Practical.” Jaskier let his fingers scratch from his scalp to the base of his skull, pleasant tingles erupting in their wake. “Right.” Geralt made a sound, low and pleased. “Sure it doesn’t just feel good?”

“Gets in the way…” Geralt mumbled, blissed stupid. “But it does.”

“It does what?”

“Feel good.” Gods,  _ shut up. _

“No need to be so hard on yourself, Geralt. I’m glad that you’re talking to me.” Oh, had he said that out loud? “Under my spell, are you?

“You don’t cast spells,” Geralt replied matter-of-factly. “You’re just a bard.”

“Oh I have some magic, I’d say. After all, I don’t think the White Wolf would just let anyone stick around this long.”

“That’s not magic.”

“Then what?”

“I love you.”  _ What the fuck are you doing, get out, what the fuck- _

“Oh, I guess that’ll do it. Did you have to wait until now to tell me that?” Geralt blinked in surprise. No dramatics?

No refusal?

“Not that there’s anything wrong with telling me now, it just would have been better saved for when you weren’t disgusting.” Nothing but another soothing run through his hair, the same pressure he liked.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“I know. But now after you’re clean and not delirious, I can tell you how I feel.”

“I know,” Geralt croaked out, feeling fragile after exposing so much. “How you feel.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Then what do you want to do once you’re clean?” Geralt thought about it. And thought some more, because while his conscious

brain was telling him to take it back, take it all back, Jaskier couldn’t know yet, Geralt wasn’t ready for him to leave, another part of Geralt reminded him that Jaskier loved him first, and the scent swirling in his nostrils was hope.

“I want to…” he trailed off. “Go to bed.” And he meant it, the hunt had drained him and he needed sleep.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, finishing off his last run with a kiss to the top of his head. Geralt felt something in his stomach twist pleasantly. “Well wash your face then, so you can get to bed. I’ve let you stay in this bath long enough.” And gods,

Geralt  _ actually  _ listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, uh, this hurt, but I’d been wanting to a backstory for a while. Hopefully you liked it.
> 
> I promise, if i write anything more for this it’s just going to be more softness and more fluff. But they had to hurt a little.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so S O F T for these two.


End file.
